


I Got You Babe

by ninathena



Series: Kink Meme [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Fic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Kink Meme, Nursing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninathena/pseuds/ninathena
Summary: Bellamy tries to be helpful, but Clarke can't keep her hands to herself.





	I Got You Babe

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in the beginning of s4, so everything after "the list" scene didn't happen. Instead, Bellarke survived Praimfaya sealed away in Arkadia together for 5yrs. 5 sexy years.

Clarke sighs in contentment, fingers skimming tenderly through her son's dark hair. Already so thick and he isn’t even a month old. She'd been present during a few births already, helped deliver Harper and Monty's, and none of them had the head of hair that Marcus Blake sports, black locks already starting to curl at the ends. She snorts at just how much he looks like Bellamy, only a little jealous.  
  
She caresses a soft cheek as he suckles at her breast, the light tug on her nipple beginning to slow sooner than expected until he releases her with a near silent pop, tiny lips continuing in their repetitive movement. She clicks her tongue, pushing her breast closer to his mouth, coaxing him to reattach. But he turns away, shaky arms pushing at her as he snuffs in that quiet, cooing way babies do.  
  
"I know you're hungrier than that," Clarke pleads, squeezing her breast near his lips, a pearly white drop beading at the tip of her nipple and sliding over her fingers. He releases a whine, a short warning, and she groans quietly, breasts uncomfortably heavy and full.  
  
It's been a problem ever since his birth, her breasts producing more milk than he consumed, always leaving her feeling engorged and tender to the touch. Her mother suggested manual expression, massaging out the remaining milk, and it did the trick, easing the near painful pressure, but it was still so much more work than just breastfeeding. Not to mention, it wasn’t anything like the closeness that came with the act of Marcus nuzzling his baby soft skin against her, his brown eyes watching her with a serene gaze as he lazily blinked up at her. It filled her heart with so much emotion it was almost embarrassing.  
  
"Alright," she gives in, laying him along her thighs in front of her, delicate head resting just below her knees. "You're just stubborn." She rubs his belly playfully. "Like your daddy." His arms wave restlessly in the air as his wide eyes take in his changed surroundings.   
  
"You blame everything on me." Clarke startles, head snapping up. Bellamy leans against their doorway, arms folded across his chest as he silently watches mother and son with a smile tugging at his lips. "How do you know he doesn't get that from you?"  
  
Clarke huffs, eyes rolling as she raises Marcus to her shoulder. "No way. This is all you, buddy."  
  
Bellamy pushes off the doorjamb, stepping into their small room, smile growing the closer he gets. "I'm glad you’re now at least admitting I contributed in some way."  
  
"Are you kidding me?" She begins to pat her son's back, his little fists finding tendrils of her hair. "This is all your fault."  
  
The bed groans beneath Bellamy's weight as he sits at the foot of it, but it holds strong. She was never too worried about it, she and Bellamy giving it a vigorous test run after he'd built it a few months back. Bellamy chuckles, reaching over to caress a hand across Marcus' soft head. "So all the tantrums, the vomiting, the accidents, all me?"  
  
"Yep." It was a joke only, of course, she and Bellamy having spent many nights planning this, waiting for those five long years till that door finally opened to the world again. The men and women on the list had been paired off accordingly, and she and Bellamy-- Well, it'd gone without saying, even though neither of them really said anything.   
  
Until one night they finally did.   
  
It would be a night she'd always remember, their frustration and lust finally boiling over. Bellamy had pressed her into the wall, mouth hard and demanding on hers as she frantically tore at the fasten of his pants. It'd been messy and quick, but satisfying after so many years of stagnant waiting. The rest of the night had been slower… thorough as they became as knowledgeable with each other’s bodies as they were with each other’s souls.  
  
Marcus fusses at her shoulder, yanking at the bits of hair he had captured between chubby fingers making her hiss. Bellamy leans over, amusement dancing in his eyes, helping to extricate the blonde waves from his son’s tight grip. His hands wrap around the baby’s torso, just under his arms, pulling him away from her with a happy groan as he folds him into his own.  
  
“It’s okay,” Bellamy says, looking down at his son with a smile. “It’s good you have a little bit of me in you.”

Clarke blinks, the words creating a knot in her throat. He’d changed so much in the last six years. Grown to accept himself. Forgive himself. Letting go of the past and looking toward the future. It’s all she ever could’ve wanted for him. They still have bad nights. Bad days. But they always had each other. And now…  
  
“Keeps me from ever believing anything that asshole Derrick says.”  
  
Clarke cocks her head, irritation seeping in. “Really?”  
  
Bellamy smirks up at her. “How do I know what you get up to when I’m out hunting?”  
  
She purses her lips, with an unamused expression as she nods. “You caught me. I admit it. I’m the camp harlot.”  
  
Bellamy shakes his head, teasing. “I knew it.” He peers back down at a now sleeping Marcus. “You’re still mine though.”  
  
She pokes him with her foot, feeling the hard muscle beneath his pant leg. “C’mon, lay him down while he’s actually asleep,” she orders before he can get too comfortable, because she knows he could spend hours just holding their son, staring down at him in awe.  
  
“He’s fine right here,” Bellamy whispers, rocking the infant.  
  
“You’re going to jostle him too much,” she warns, “and he’s going to end up puking all over you… again.” Bellamy catches her eyes. “Then I’m going to laugh.”  
  
Bellamy sighs, husky and deep, _masculine,_ the sound pulling between her legs, making her suddenly painfully aware of just how long it’d been since she’d felt him there. Her gaze roves over him slowly, drinking him in as he stands over the crib, his stupid, handsome face with his stupid, special smile that he only ever held for their son, his broad shoulders and thick arms that flex with every movement he makes, and his fingers— _Oh god, his fingers_.  
  
 _Fuck  
_  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
Had she said that out loud?   
  
She releases a breath, trying to calm herself, the dull pain in her chest returning, throbbing, and she places a hand gently over a breast. “He didn’t finish his dinner again.”  
  
Bellamy's brows furrow with concern, still half leaning over the crib with one hand inside. “Sore?”  
  
She nods, closing her eyes and dropping her head back on the wall. She hears the sound of pouring water and she already knows what it is he’s doing. The bed dips beside her, and she watches as Bellamy folds the damp rag. When he reaches out she grabs the meaty part of his hand, between his thumb and his palm, stopping him from coming any closer. He looks up, worried. “You don’t have to do that,” she says.  
  
Bellamy laughs, smiling wide and real. Not the kind she sees very often. He leans in, his hot breath fanning across her, and his scent, pine and sweat and _Bellamy_ , surround her, making her chest tingle with longing. “This is the highlight of my day,” he says gruffly. With a silent hum, she releases him, letting him place the cloth on her left breast and she has to bite back a moan at the soothing warmth of it.  
  
“Good?” Bellamy asks, dark eyes registering her every expression. She nods again, left hand holding her breast up for him while he begins to tenderly wipe the cloth along her skin, soothing the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding within her.  
  
She sighs softly as he goes, eventually switching to her right. His breathing is quiet, the space between them scant. But it’s comfortable. Being with him is always comfortable, and she’s not sure she’s ever really felt that way around anyone before, preferring her time alone verse spending it with a crowd. But Bellamy isn’t some other person. He’s more like an extension of herself. Her other half.  
  
He sits back, tossing the rag into the washbowl. “We should probably be doing this more often.”  
  
She arches her brow. “We?”  
  
He laughs again quietly, the sound practically lighting up their entire room. “Or you could do it alone.” He releases a breath as he leans forward once more, warm cheek rough with stubble as he slides against hers before kissing the corner of her lips sweetly. “I just thought it was more fun with me.”

Clarke sighs, eyes closing at the combination of his heady words and the velvet tone with which he said them. His whole presence washes over her – inside her. Her blood rushing hot for him. And it’s been so. damn. _long_.  
  
The pads of his fingers are calloused as they scrape along her breast, massaging the pliant, engorged flesh with care. She tries not to let his touch affect her, tries to keep herself from squirming. But it’s a losing battle, the feel of his warm hand encompassing her. It’s so far from clinical yet not really sexual. And that’s the kicker. It’s the loving, tender caress that gets to her, making her breath speed up and belly clench with want as she stares at him, all business and concentration as he studies his own hand with pinched brows.  
  
He swallows hard when he pulls away, and she wonders if he’s having as much trouble as she is. It’s been just as long for him with only hungry kisses and lingering touches to tide them over, and she knows he’s desperate for more than a quick hand-job between naps, caring for an infant and rebuilding society.   
  
He reaches for the rag, finally catching her eye. “Ready?” With the rag in one hand, he uses the other to handle her breast, thick fingers steady on her skin as he presses in and rolls them forward, repeating the movement about a dozen times before changing position. It doesn’t hurt, Bellamy having perfected this over the few dozen times he’s done it now.   
  
She can’t help herself, needing to touch him in some way, fingers encircling his wrist, thumb ghosting up and down in a light, barely-there touch that has his arm hair standing on end.  
  
“What are you doin?” he asks with a sly grin, heated eyes catching hers. She presses her lips together, shrugging innocently. He chuckles, but doesn’t stop in his ministrations, soaking each release of milk with the rag. He misses, thin liquid dribbling over his knuckles, distracted by her other hand that has its fingers climbing the inner seam of his trousers.  
  
His eyes flutter and he huffs, lifting his hand and taking a knuckle into his mouth, lips wrapping around the joint as he sucks the milk from his skin. Her breath catches in her throat at the sight, not expecting that at all -- or how much it seems to turn her on. And now she’s practically throbbing with need, cursing herself for having started this stupid game when she knows she really can’t have what she really wants in the end.  
  
“Mmm, sweet.” Bellamy’s gravelly voice melts into her, her heart racing as her fingers now squeeze his thigh unconsciously.  
  
“I miss you,” she whispers desperately. He sighs, nuzzling his nose against her cheek, then along her jawline before kissing just beneath it. “I know, baby.”  
  
His hand slides up her thigh, palm hot through the fabric until he’s cupping her between them, fingers rubbing gently over her. She holds back the groan but not the movement of her hips, pushing up into his touch, seeking all the friction he’s willing to give. His mouth trails down her neck, biting playfully at her collarbone with his nose smashed into her shoulder.  
  
Clarke catches her lip, head rolling back and fingers pushing into his hair. “That's not fair,” she rasps breathlessly.  
  
He peers up, eyes black and hot on her. He presses his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. “Three weeks,” he promises, “and I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.” The soft sigh/moan that bubbles up her throat is pathetic, but she’s already so far gone with need she doesn’t care. “You want that, baby?” His fingers press harder on her, focusing on her clit with tight circles, the seam of her pants rubbing against her deliciously.  
  
“Fuck,” she cries out. “So much. I want you so much.”  
  
Bellamy inhales sharply, pulling away from her. She’s about to protest, nose flaring and mouth open, ready to demand he continue. But it all dies away as she watches him tear off his shirt, revealing miles of smooth, golden skin. He shucks his boots and pants swiftly, grinning up at her under the fringe of his bangs. She giggles at his ridiculousness, unfastening and rolling down her own pants, kicking them off the bed.

He settles himself behind her, helping her turn in his lap till her arms are hanging loosely around his neck and her legs are splayed out around his torso and her tongue is demanding entrance into his mouth because _fuck_ she just wants him - all of him. He laughs into her mouth at her eagerness, but it’s thoroughly cut off by a sharp intake of breath as she rocks her cunt over the hard length of him.  
  
“Fuck, princess. You’re hungry aren’t you?” She nips at his kiss swollen lower lip making him chuckle. He bumps her nose with his, and she feels his smile as he nibbles and pecks his way down her throat, pausing at the juncture between neck and shoulder, teeth sharp on her flesh before laving at the spot sweetly.  
  
His lips trail down lower, forcing her to tilt back. She grasps onto his knee and his hand catches the small of her back, large and warm, making her grind against him again. “I gotcha,” he husks, hand sliding up her shoulder blade, pushing her forward as he leans back, propped up on his other hand. “Hold those pretty titties up for me, babe. Hold ‘em up so I can get my mouth on you.”  
  
Clarke moans at his words. He's always been a good talker, she knows that. But even still, the dirty talk had been a pleasant surprise once they began sleeping together, and was yet another reason why she hates that it took them so long to get to this point in their relationship. She can only imagine the filthy things he would’ve rasped in her ear if they’d been doing this after they first landed.  
  
She cups her breasts, as much as she can get anyway, pushing them together with a slow circle of her hips. “Fuck, those are gorgeous.” He sets a hand on hers, thumb brushing lightly over the nipple between her fingers, and it’s like a shock straight down to her weeping cunt. “You know how fucking perfect you are?”  
  
She snorts, barely holding back a roll of her eyes.  
  
“I’m serious.” He squeezes his hand over hers, the flesh of her tits spilling out around them. They’d definitely grown since her pregnancy. And as much as Bellamy seems to enjoy them, she’s kind of hoping they’ll return to their original size eventually. Big breasts are fun…until they’re not.  
  
“Everything you give. Everything you are.” He drops his face into her cleavage, almost reverently, leaving messy kisses across her skin. He latches on to her nipple, wet tongue flicking and teasing, driving her crazy until he scrapes gently with his teeth making her gasp. His tongue flattens, pushing up as he begins to suckle, humming softly at the first taste of her.  
  
Clare slides her arm around his neck, fingers playing with the curls just above his ear while she relaxes atop him, hips rocking lazy and slow every now and again to feel the hard ridge of him brush against her sensitive clit. She sighs, head lolling to the side, every pull of Bellamy’s mouth releasing a tingling sensation in her breast that curls low in her belly.   
  
She breathes his name, eyes falling closed as she allows the feelings, physical and otherwise, to take over, enjoying herself for once as she becomes lost to it all.  
  
Bellamy reaches up, fingers pushing through the hair at the nape of her neck, rolling her head back towards him, taking her mouth in a leisurely kiss, tongue licking her own as he gives her a taste of herself. And she _is_ sweet – creamy – and she mewls at the flavor.  
  
“Shit, Clarke. Baby, your noises. Do you even hear yourself?” Truthfully she doesn’t, all hearing and self-awareness having washed away by the high swirling inside her. She grinds against him harder making him grunt, and he plays with the band on the back of her panties, fingers dipping in every so often, drawing senseless patterns on the small of her back before sneaking down again, squeezing her ass cheek hard like he’s desperate to be with the rest of her. And she wants it, wants it so bad her pussy is practically begging as it clenches at the emptiness, yearning for him to fill her.  
  
His fingers skim down the crack of her ass until he’s there, sliding through her folds, pressing at the entrance of her dripping cunt, the touch making her whine.  
  
“Is that what you need, pretty girl?” His finger circles her, making her pant with want. “Poor pussy is just aching for it, isn’t it?”  
  
“ _Bell_.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. I’m aching for you too.”  
  
He curls a finger inside, just to the knuckle, her desperate rocking doing most of the work. She feels the twinge, the slight stretch of her still healing body protesting the invasion. But she pushes it to the side, because damn it feels so good to have something. And as thick and beautiful as Bellamy’s fingers are, one’s just not enough, and she pushes down trying to take him in further.  
  
“Two,” she pants. “Gimme two.”  
  
He chuckles, but it’s strained and ends on a moan as he kisses her neck. “Clarke, I’d give you anything, especially when you’re like this, but there’s no fucking way I’m taking you to your mom in the middle of the night with torn stitches.” She grips him harder in frustration, fingers curling tighter in his hair. She knows he’s right, knows it’s not worth risking…but she so badly wants to risk it.  
  
“We’ll start out with this, work our way up,” he says, voice breaking when she speeds up. He growls, deep and vibrating straight to her core. “Take it, baby. Take what you need.” She breathes in, mouth open wide as she drops her head back, Bellamy’s free hand supporting her. “Fuck,” he groans. “How’d I get so lucky, huh? How’d I get so lucky with you?”  
  
“So good,” Clarke moans. “Oh fuck.” She can vaguely hear him laughing before he’s got his mouth on her again, the tug on her breast sending her higher until she’s breaking, arms and thighs shaking as she clings to Bellamy so hard that in any other circumstance she’d be worried about smothering him.  
  
Head resting on his shoulder, their combined breathing helps bring her back to earth, that blissed out feeling making her lethargic as she rests her weight on him. Then Bellamy’s falling back, no longer able to support them both. As she comes to her senses she notes the wetness that coats his chest that’s way more than just sweat. She drags a finger through it, inspecting it.  
  
“Is this—”  
  
He dips his chin to look, broken out of his post orgasmic haze.  
  
“Oh god,” she groans, eyes pinched closed, “I’m sorry.” She presses a hand to her breast, as if it would stop the mess that’d already been made.  
  
Bellamy captures her hand, bringing the wet finger into his mouth, only shrugging when she gives him a look. “That’s hot,” he says, teeth still holding the tip of her finger.  
  
She huffs, eyes rolling but grateful that he isn’t grossed out by her boobs that’ve apparently turned into leaky faucets at the worst times. She leans up to look him in the eye, tongue snaking out to lick between his pecs. “Mmm, that is sweet.”  
  
Bellamy cocks his head with a happy grin. “Told ya.”


End file.
